Page 94 of Painting Celia

She winced. “It’s not about you!”

“But we’re happy, we’ve been…you’re happy, aren’t you?”

Her eyes pleaded with him, but she said nothing. Unbelievable!

“Aren’t you?” he insisted.

Her lips parted, then slowly closed.

Her silence broke him, the rejection a shattering blow. A change? Why? If the paintings weren’t enough…he had to get out. He’d leave on his own before he let her tell him to go.

He lurched for the door, then stopped and spun around to face her again. She was still paralyzed, sorrowful and mute. He pointed a fierce finger at her, leaning in, eyes burning.

“You belong to me!” he shouted. “You remember that! I’m not playing! I am not done with you!”

He stormed to the front door and out, slamming it behind him.

•••

Celia sank to the couch, reaching for a pillow and crushing it to her face.

He didn’t understand. She couldn’t explain.

Standing up for herself always ended in an argument, shouting, fingers pointing at her. How did other people get their way so easily?

The pillow made it hard to breathe. Good.

A touch on her shoulder made her jump and look. Kelsey. Her light eyes were worried, her hand tentative.

“You okay?” she asked.

Celia took a deep breath, hands gouging into the pillow as she lowered it to her lap.

“He left,” she croaked. “If I’d just said I was happy, he would have listened.”

“It could have gone better,” Kelsey agreed softly. “Maybe next time, it will. He said he’s not done.”

“Not done pushing me around! I belong to him, did you hear that too?” The pillow slowly somersaulted to the floor as Celia gave up her grip on it, and she watched it go. A sickly weight churned deep in her stomach. Was what she wanted so impossible?

“I did all of this wrong,” she said. “I ignored my worries until I exploded.”

“He needed deflating, honey,” Kelsey said as she gently sat close to Celia. “When they’re so cocky that they start making jokes, you have to get loud.” She leaned over for the pillow, smoothing it as she set it back in place.

Celia scrubbed at her hot cheeks with stiff hands. Her neck hurt, tight and rigid. She felt…anger? Fear? Her insides ached, but with what?

“I don’t know how to do this,” she choked out. “How do you speak up without making them mad?”

“You didn’t ‘make’ him anything. You don’t have that power.” At Celia’s skeptical stare, Kelsey shook her head. “His reaction isn’t your fault.”

Celia flexed her painful fingers. “It ended with him mad, either way.”

Kelsey tilted her head and patted Celia’s knee. “You want to tell me about it? Get some practice for when he comes back?”

Lord no! She’d never said her true fear aloud, not even to León. Art might save me, she’d said, but not from what.

Kelsey was looking at her, waiting.

She had to tell, didn’t she? Or nothing would change.

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